Tuesday, July 24, 2007

John and Mel Storm Vienna

In the spirit of the Extended Lee Family Fun-Filled Jam-Packed Holiday Itineraries, John and Mel continue the legacy of aggressive tourist ambition. THIS one entry is definitely for the family (rated G). With just 42 hours from meet-up to send-off, here is our play-by-play:

Noon, July 18th 2007, Sudbanhof South train station, VIENNA: It’s been a year since we last saw each other! Hello!

First on the agenda is to introduce John to what on earth Mel is doing here. We walk through the Schweizer garten park towards a vast complex of red brick barracks built post-1848 called Arsenal. Housed inside of military warehouses converted into dance studios for the Impulstanz contemporary dance festival and workshops Mel is here to participate in, classes were in spaces large enough to accommodate observers, and John got a good earful of Mel’s comments and criticisms while watching what was going on. Since it adds to our checklist, it will be worthwhile to mention that we at least walked past the Heeresgeschichtliches Museum (Museum of Military History), and were tickled pink by the objects of warcraft and destruction (such as fighter jets, helicopters, and dud spuds) that surrounded us during our grassy lunch picnic on Arsenal grounds.

Below: An interview with artists being held inside one of the Arsenal converted dance studios.



We had every intention to visit the Belvedere Royal Palaces and gardens, considered some of the finest secular Baroque buildings in all of the Europe, also housing the largest collection of Klimt paintings. We fail. We sit beneath shady trees eating a chocolate croissant and topfen country-cheese pastry instead. Hoorah!

It’s hitting 38 degrees and we’re probably already sunstroked. Heading home to the apartment Mel is subletting in the quiet fourth district, we manage a quick shower and snack before setting off again, this time with flatmate Neal Jagtap (an Indian-American law student interning for the UN) to introduce both gentlemen to the tanz-theater arts scene.

We see most of Vienna’s majestic Ringstrasse buildings—such as the Parliament, Opera House, Rathaus (Town Hall) and boulevard thoroughfares—through the windows (and against a foreground of sticky armpits of fellow passengers) on the tram up towards Schauspielhaus theatre, where we meet up with Mel’s choreographer friend from Slovakia/New York, Palo.

John orders both a Pepsi and a local wheat beer, with just 20 minutes to curtain. It’s hot.

The theater’s red foyer embraces us and the flood of eager viewers (it’s platz frei) with floor-to-ceiling light boxes displaying images of shag carpet. Art. We secure somewhat central seats and are vigorously assaulted by what is perhaps the most difficult introduction to Europe’s tanz theatre scene I could have imagined for both Neal and John—French choreographer Alain Platel’s duet for acclaimed performers Benjamin Verdonck and Fumiya Ikeda interpreting a children’s book narrating the lives of Congolese child soldiers: “Nine Finger”. Awed by relentless virtuosity and raw emotion, we detox post-show with a petition signing, animated discussion, and another round of drinks.

Below: John, Palo, and Neal on the tram



Tram-hiking ourselves towards the city center, we stop for street food as only the late-night starving and reckless do. Neal receives a 3 Euro hot dog embedded in a hollowed bun, and reveals that this is the infamous Käsekrainer, or, cheese-filled sausage. Seeing as how the guidebook comments that this snack is “fondly referred to as an Eitriger, or pus-stick”, who could resist? Its excessively mouth-coating oil and cheesiness dressed with ketchup and mustard, we continue the heart attack with sandwiches from the doner kebab stand—-very salty, and in buns instead of pitas. Walking home, we pause by a public art exhibit outside the Kunsthalle Project Space where letters and words made from water droplets fall from a 20ft high truss, downlit by hanging lights to make them visible against the night sky. Art.

Day 2 (Hour since arrival: 21)
begins with fruit, cereal, yogurt, and an iPhoto show-and-tell of this-is-my-life and here-are-my-friends and here’s-Sue-and-Duleesha’s and oh-my-it-has-been-a-year-since-the-wedding-how-time-flies. Phone call with Pat and Soo-Jin--it’s their 32nd anniversary! John tries out some of Mel’s stretches and thinks they’re quite painful. We get out of the house and walk towards the center of the city (Innere Stadt), about 15 minutes away. We marvel at Viennese architecture and eat ice cream along the way.

Below: Vienna street






Below: St. Stephen's Cathedral


St Stephen’s Cathedral (Stephansdom)
, according to a friend who has been a regular summer visitor to Vienna, has been covered by scaffolding for the last five years. Unsheathed this year, we beheld it’s yellow-green-black tiled roof in awe, both from the ground and from up the 343 steps of the cathedral’s 450ft-high south tower (completed in 1433 after 74 years of work). It has undergone numerous phases of building and repair due to the ravages of the Turks, the Napoleonic French and the Allies. We descend, dizzy and counting, to the happy embrace of Ottokringer beers served by a not-so-happy waiter dressed in too-high pants and alotta hair grease.






Tea-time. Dinner-time. When?!?! Now!!! Hungry. Hot. We manage to trudge 200m to taste the indistinguishable eggy-topped rye bread canapés at “must-visit” Trzeniewski, fueling the onward mission to subterranean Zwölf Apostelkeller, said to be “the sort of place your distant Viennese Uncle Fritz would take you…the labyrinth of vaulted Gothic and early baroque cellars have a Harry Potter-esque charm.” Both John and Mel have neither read nor watched nor desired Harry Potter, which perhaps is what inspired us to make the epic journey to what turns out to be a strange, empty, and unfriendly baroque dining hall.




We order piles of “local” food, no thanks to the eager translation of our green-vested and mean waiter, “Herr. Leopold.” (Mel is convinced that all these old waiters, as hoary as the gothic facades themselves, must switch nametags every other day to the point where they no longer know their given names.) Over the course of a couple hours of tremendously rude service, we manage to make Uncle Leopold smile and his gargoyle gang snicker in the corner by asking him to take a photo with us ... not OF us ... WITH us. Here we are, a happy family. Then John and Mel take all the cutlery with the extra rolls of bread we didn't ask for but that costed us a Euro each.

Below: John being a Gothic beast. And Uncle Fritz, uh, Leopold. And us.




A gelato cone at the wildly popular Zanoni & Zanoni finished us off and gave spring to our steps heading back home for a little rest before this evening’s performance.

Near home on Fleischmanngasse, we sit outside with cold homemade ices teas, laughing at the seating in a nearby public space being divided into individual seats instead of benches until we realize that this may be to prevent homeless people from sleeping there.

Hoofing it to meet friends for the performance at Kasino am Schwarzenbergplatz, we pass by the masterpiece of baroque architecture, Karlskirche (Karl’s Church), with hints of Roman and Byzantine on the exterior pillars depicting the life of Emperor Karl VI in spiraling carved stone relief, for about 5 seconds. Of equal curiosity are the young people lazing on orange beach chairs at the reggae bar facing. This is the post-modern. This is progress!

We proceed to watch the acclaimed Christian Rizzo's new piece for a solo dancer, "Comme crane, comme culte", which translates roughly to "Like cranium, like worship", which translates in the viewing of it, roughly to "Like a load of poop on my 12 Euro ticket". Again with the lovely Palo and a more neurotic American dancer friend, Mike, we try to hob-nob but very ungraciously drink out of other people's abandoned bottles of water until we ourselves hobble out to find better, cheaper refreshment. The day ends back at Stephensplatz with a milkshake AND ANOTHER serving of ice cream. It's. Still. Hot.


...John leaves to the airport at 6am the next morning. We clocked 42 hours, 2 dance-theatre performances, 2 weiners, 12 scoops of ice cream, 1 major tourist attraction, and 4 new friends (including Uncle Karl. Uh, Leopold). Lots of love to the rest of the family -- wish you were here! (but then we wouldn't have gotten away with just 1 major tourist attraction!)

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